


who says virtual dreams aren't relevant?

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I like calculus, i do not apologize for art, what am I doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4780118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glados was honestly not surprised at all to find both Chell and Wheatley at their table before her. Because, of course this would be her life. Forced to study with these two idiots. They’d probably all pass and graduate and then get jobs at the same company and she’d be forced to work with them for the rest of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who says virtual dreams aren't relevant?

**Author's Note:**

> This ridiculous insanity is for my sister, because she loves Wheatdos and I love her.
> 
> Title is a reference to the song "[Mecto Amore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcNEzxTSvuw)" by Steam Powered Giraffe.

Chell showed up her customary few minutes late to their session with a shrug, an extra-large paper cup full of coffee, and a boy in tow. Glados spent several long seconds quelling the murderous rage that rose in her throat because honestly, what was Chell thinking bringing this short little _thing_ in the rumpled sweater vest to their study session?

“Are you an idiot?” she demanded, leaning back in the library chair.

She’d practiced the pose in the mirror and knew how impressive it was – long legs crossed over each other, pixie cut punctuated by the asymmetrical bangs that fell just so over one eye, almost touching her crimson lips. She looked powerful. In control, which was exactly where Glados liked to be.

“You bitch nearly every day about how much you hate when I test you. Why would you willingly subject another being to these brainless excuses for study sessions? Unless you lost your brain somewhere in those donuts you no doubt ate this morning for breakfast.”

Chell snorted, rolling her eyes and dropping into the seat across from her. “He’s struggling too.”

Chell rarely spoke. It was one of the things Glados ~~liked~~ didn’t totally hate about her. And when she did speak, she had a rusty rasp to her voice, like she was either deliberately trying to sound like a phone sex operator or she’d spent two years gargling glass. Either way, it was stupidly attractive. Glados wasn’t surprised to find this guy trailing after her like a puppy.

“I bet,” Glados muttered, eyeing the boy. He was still standing awkwardly next to Chell’s chair, fingers twisting the strap of his messenger bag, like he was waiting for permission to sit down.

“Sit down, Wheatley, she doesn’t bite,” Chell ignored Glados’ animosity as per usual and started pulling her calculus books from her bag, setting them neatly in a stack in front of her.

“More like doesn’t bite _hard_ ,” the guy muttered, stepping around the table and pulling out the chair next to Chell. Glados’ eyebrows lifted smoothly. So not only did he apparently not own an iron, but he was also British.

“Glados, Wheatley. Wheatley, this is Glados,” Chell kept the introductions short. “Wheatley, we’re doing integrals.”

“Smashing,” Wheatley proclaimed, dumping his books onto the table. The corner of his calculus book hit Glados’ coffee and only Chell’s lightning reflexes caught it from dumping off the table and all over the floor.

Glados took a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth, counting to seven, just like her anger management drills.

“Oops, sorry there, love—I mean, n-not that you’re _my_ love, really, or uh, anyone’s love? Not that I don’t think you _could_ be anyone’s love, I mean, obviously you’re gorgeous—uh, t-that is to say, not that I noticed! But uh, not that I didn’t notice? Because—”

Wheatley abruptly stopped talking and when Glados opened her eyes, she could see that Chell had taken matters into her own hands, literally, and clapped a hand over Wheatley’s mouth. His eyes were huge and blue, startled behind his glasses, and there was a blush slowly crawling down his neck.

Glados felt something that was most certainly murderous intent simmer behind her ribs, half of that being the amused look on Chell’s face.

(Well, amused was a bit of a stretch. Amused for Chell was really just a tilt of the lips and the quirk of an eyebrow. Honestly. Glados had no idea how she ended up saddled with such a freak of nature for a frie—study partner.)

“Well, now that we all know our new addition is a _moron_ , let’s get started.”

Not a single threat. Caroline would be so proud of her at next week’s session.

Glados had been tutoring Chell in calculus practically all semester, and every session would go pretty much the same way. Chell would show up a few minutes late from her parkour club meetings, Glados would mock her, Chell would pick a topic, and Glados would proceed to brutally test her in every aspect of that topic until both girls wanted to scream.

That first faculty-suggested session had been a complete disaster – Chell had stormed away, lips tight, silent anger radiating in every step and Glados had gone home and taken out her aggression on an entire pack of lightbulbs, throwing them against the wall and watching them shatter with a kind of vicious delight.

(Caroline hadn’t been particularly pleased with that little episode, frowning when Glados tried to explain away the cuts on her hands from cleaning up the broken glass. There had been lots of deep breathing exercises in that session.)

The next day after class, Chell had grabbed Glados by the arm and said, “that worked. I remembered everything. Same time next week?”

And Glados must have taken complete leave of her senses for the thirty seconds that Chell’s fingers dug into her elbow because she actually agreed.

And now here they were, at this same table in the campus library every single Tuesday and Friday. Stupid, sure, but it was familiar. For some reason, Glados didn’t hate seeing Chell’s stupid face twice a week. Especially when that stupid face remembered to bring her coffee.

And now, Chell had taken their calculus ritual and _destroyed it_ by bringing this absolute idiot to the session.

For one thing, he _hummed_. Incessantly, constant little bits of noise and melody that dug under Glados’ skin like he was physically scratching her with his fingernails.

She snapped two pencils in half in the first fifteen minutes. Chell handed her a third pencil, eyebrow quirked in a wordless question, and Glados snarled at her, just as silently.

Wheatley went on humming his little oblivious song. Glados glared at him for a few seconds, at his glasses slipping down his nose and his messy hair drooping slightly, at the bitten fingernails tapping on the edge of the table, and wondered how much trouble she’d get in for throwing something at him.

Her eyes slid to his paper and she made a strangled noise.

Wheatley looked up, questions in his eyes, mouth already open to start babbling, when Glados snatched his paper and dragged it towards her.

Every single question was so completely incorrect it was like it had been written in a different language.

“Seriously, are you a moron?” Glados demanded. Chell kicked her under the table and Glados kicked back, aiming for her ankle and hitting the chair leg instead.

Wheatley flushed, scowling, and grabbed for his paper. Glados lifted it up and away and he ended up on his feet, leaning across the table for the page. Glados tilted her chair back to get away from him and Wheatley just leaned closer, practically on top of the table at this point.

“Sh-shut up! They’re not _all_ wrong!”

“This whole page is a disaster. Like your wardrobe.”

“Now that’s just _rude_!”

Wheatley made one last lunge for the sheet and put his hand down on the table to steady himself – except, in his determination, he’d placed his hand right on Glados’ notebook, which slid on the smooth tabletop. Wheatley made a surprised noise and flailed, tipping forward, chest making contact with the table and face making contact with Glados’ chest.

There was a moment of dead silence before Chell made a strangled noise that Glados knew to be a laugh. Glados grabbed Wheatley by the back of his head, fingers tight in his hair and lifted so he was staring into her face, eyes huge and lips babbling apologies.

Glados shoved him away from her and threw the page onto the table. “I’m done,” she informed Chell, who was already packing up her books, still snickering. Rage beat in Glados’ blood like music, thudding in time to the angry growling of her heart against her ribs.

“Seriously, lo— I mean, Glados, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want— not that you’re not— but it was an accident, and—”

“Stop,” Glados snarled, and grabbed her coffee and her books and swept for the door without another word to either of them.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wheatley said faintly, just loud enough for Glados to hear before she slammed the library door behind her with a bang.

-

The next Friday, Glados was honestly not surprised at all to find both Chell and Wheatley at their table before her. Because, of course this would be her life. Forced to study with these two idiots. They’d probably all pass and graduate and then get jobs at the same company and she’d be forced to work with them for the rest of her life.

She dropped her bag onto the empty seat to her usual place and dropped gracefully into the chair, accepting the coffee Chell pushed across the table without a word, tipping it back and draining half of it in one smooth gulp.

“Alright,” she said when she’d finally had enough coffee to function properly. “Since both of you are clearly hopeless at this, we’re going to start from the very beginning.”

Wheatley didn’t say a word, watching her carefully as she cracked open the book, finding the page she’d marked the night of The Boob Incident, when she’d calmed down enough to realize that Wheatley was actually probably a true moron and would need all the help he could get if he was to even dream about passing calculus.

When Glados didn’t immediately lunge across the table to strangle him, Wheatley seemed to relax a little.

Glados ignored him and flashed a vicious grin at Chell, who groaned. “Shall we begin testing?”

-

They fell into a strange little routine after that – Glados would get to their table first, and Chell and Wheatley would show up a few minutes later together. Glados would mock Chell and Wheatley, sometimes separately, sometimes together. The first time she mocked Wheatley he dropped his pencil and blushed to the roots of his hair, which almost looked blue under the quasi-fluorescent lights of the library.

Then they would power through calculus for as long as it took for one or all of them to completely lose patience.

One memorable session it was Wheatley who lost his temper, standing and shouting abuse at his textbook for practically five solid minutes. Chell gaped at him, clearly not expecting such an explosive temper out of the sweater vest and glasses. Wheatley had pulled his glasses off his face, polishing the lenses clean with the edge of his sweater vest, hands trembling with rage, and Glados sat back in her chair and considered him, considered the anger twisting his lips into a scowl, the bright spots of color high on his cheeks, and the particularly creative threats he’d thrown at his calculus book.

“Feel better?” she’d asked, and Wheatley had met her eyes, expression hard.

“No,” he’d spat, sinking back into his chair and yanking the book back towards himself.

Chell had looked between them, looking uncharacteristically nervous as Glados stood fluidly and walked around the table to stand right behind him. She examined his paper over his shoulder for several long seconds before she grabbed his pencil. This close, she could feel Wheatley trembling, anger burning out and leaving pure adrenaline behind.

It was a rush, to lose control so completely. Glados knew exactly how it felt.

Silently, Glados scratched out a **-1** Wheatley had written at the top of the integral and replaced it with a **1**.

“Pay more attention to your numbers, moron,” she said, flat and unimpressed, and walked back around the table to her chair.

When she looked up again, Chell was watching her with a strange expression on her face, like she was trying to puzzle something out.

Wheatley was staring at his homework like it held the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

-

The Tuesday after Wheatley’s little episode had Glados in a dark and angry mood – honestly, she’d fucked around in chem lab _one_ time, created a _little bit_ of poisonous gas and sent _one_ person to the hospital. Er, ok, two. Or more than two. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

Certainly not a big enough deal for every lab after that to be _monitored_.

She stormed into the library, feeling like maybe kicking a small animal or throwing something breakable, when she realized that Wheatley had already beaten her to their table.

And that he was alone.

Glados paused, frowning at the side of his head.

He wasn’t paying attention, calculus book already open in front of him, brow creased as he mouthed the words on the page silently.

Glados dropped her books onto the table and was vindictively pleased to see him jump.

“Where’s Chell?” she asked without preamble, sliding into her chair.

Wheatley shrugged, twirling his pencil between his fingers. It went over and over his knuckles, balancing just so before he’d catch it at the last second. “Dunno – she sent me a text saying she might be a bit late. Something about parkour taking a while.”

Just then, Glados’ phone beeped. She dug it from her bag while Wheatley watched with undisguised interest and flipped it open. Glados rarely used her phone. The only people she really contacted after all were Chell and Caroline.

_forgot the art club’s exhibition was tonight – promised ratman I’d be there. sorry, G, see you fri._

Ugh. Chell’s friend Doug was one of Glados’ least favorite people on the planet. He was jumpy and afraid of his own shadow. Plus his art was _stupid_ – that one moronic painting of the cake had taken off on the internet to the point where the next person to inform Glados that her dessert was lying to her was going to get her foot shoved so far up their ass they’d be able to _taste_ her high-heeled designer boots.

Doug had done a rather impressive portrait of Chell for last year’s exhibition competition, though.

Glados pointedly chose to ignore this fact.

“Chell’s not coming,” she announced, throwing her phone back into her bag without responding to the text. Wheatley paled.

“She’s not?” he squeaked and Glados felt a slow grin creep across her face.

“Why, you’re not afraid to be alone with me, are you, Wheatley?” she purred, leaning across the table with her chin in her hands. Wheatley looked torn between fainting and running for the door, reaching up and tugging on his collar.

“O-Of course not! I mean, why would I, it’s not like you’re completely _terrifying_ , or anything, because obviously you’re not, that would be just _silly_ —”

“Good!” Glados sat back and popped the cover off her calculator. “Because this means, Wheatley, dear, that you get to experience the joys of testing with me all by yourself. Now aren’t you excited?”

“T-tickled pink,” Wheatley said faintly.

-

Working with Wheatley alone was… different than working with Chell. Glados was used to silence as they worked, just the scratching of pencils across paper and the occasional squeak of chairs as one of them shifted.

Without Chell, Wheatley seemed to think that Glados was alright with chit-chat while they worked. Which she was absolutely _not_ alright with.

Which was why it was so strange that she hadn’t snapped and thrown him out a window yet.

It was almost like the background noise of his babble was… soothing.

Ugh. Glados was disgusted with herself. 

“— probably won’t get much sleep tonight, either, especially considering there’s that meteor shower tonight.”

“Meteor shower?” Glados repeated. Chell was probably going to want to sneak out and go see it. The girl had a strange obsession with seeing the sky, to the point where Glados had asked once if she’d been locked in a basement for her entire life. Chell had given her such an unreadable look that Glados hadn’t brought it up again, feeling strangely guilty for even asking.

Wheatley rolled his eyes. “Bloody stupid, if you ask me. Who cares about seeing things fall from space?”

Glados raised a single eyebrow. “Most people think space is interesting.”

Wheatley shuddered. “Not me. Afraid of the blasted thing. It’s so big and empty. Imagine getting _stuck_ there.”

“Trapped in space?” Glados’ voice dripped with sarcasm. “What a relevant and logical fear to have. That’s something that will definitely happen to you sometime in the future. ”

Wheatley scowled at her from across the table, pointing his pencil eraser-first at her nose. “Now that’s just rude, love. Here I am, sharing something personal, and you just go right ahead and use it to taunt me.”

Glados snorted, leaning down to finish her last problem. “Serves you right for boring me with useless facts about yourself.”

“Useless—! Now how are we supposed to let this friendship blossom if we don’t share about ourselves?”

Glados’ pencil paused in the middle of the integral curve and she looked up across the table. Wheatley looked completely serious.

The frustration, it was back, licking the inside of her ribs and settling in her stomach, pinching her guts between two fingers and twisting.

“Friendship?” she asked blankly, and Wheatley’s expression stuttered.

“Well, of course. Are… are we not friends?”

Glados stared at him.

Of course they weren’t friends. Why would she ever be friends with—

Although, they did spend time together. Outside of class, even – Chell had brought Wheatley with her to the last time she and Glados had gone to watch the robotics competition.

(Seriously, what kind of moron built turrets that couldn’t distinguish between what it was supposed to shoot at and what was its creator? Sometimes these things were _hilarious_.)

And then there were the study sessions, and they’d eaten lunch all in a group that one time, and—

Oh my god, Glados and Wheatley were kind of friends.

“I have to go,” she stood, chair tipping backwards onto the floor. She didn’t bother picking it up, grabbing her books instead and heading for the door.

“W-wait, Glados—!”

Glados ignored him, barely breathing until she made it as far from the library building as she possibly could.

Friends. They could be considered _friends_.

What was happening to her? It was like every minute she spent with the moron made her more of an idiot.

-

Glados was right – Chell showed up at her apartment door wrapped in a thick orange coat exactly fifteen minutes before the meteor shower was supposed to start.

Glados leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow, arms folded across her chest. “It’s the middle of the night. What makes you think I’ll even go with you this time?”

Chell didn’t say a word, just looked at her expectantly, and after a thirty-second staring contest, Glados sighed and grabbed her jacket.

This whole friendship thing really was a pain in the ass.

They headed down the sidewalk from Glados’ apartment and towards campus. There was a hill behind the student union that would be perfect for viewing the shower, so they headed down the path around the side of the building, walking in companionable silence.

That’s what made Chell so much better than Wheatley – she didn’t feel the need to punctuate the silence with mindless nonsense. No useless chatter. They could watch the meteor shower in total silence, no distraction from stupid big-eyed British boys, who—

“I invited Wheatley,” Chell said quietly, and Glados felt the irrational urge to shove her down the hill.

“Why,” she demanded and Chell snorted.

“Why do you hate him so much?”

“He thinks we’re _friends_.”

“We are friends.”

“Not us, idiot, me and him.”

“You are friends.”

“We are _not_.”

“Are too.”

“Are not!”

Chell started to laugh, low and soft, and Glados did shove her, only not quite as hard as she would have a year ago.

They crested the hill and found Wheatley already waiting for them, sitting cross-legged on a blanket and looking rather disgruntled to be there.

He spied Glados and visibly swallowed, like he was steeling himself for something. Like he had to prepare himself to hang out with her.

Glados tried not to be annoyed and failed almost immediately.

“What?” she barked, and Wheatley shrank backwards. Chell pinched Glados’ upper arm in silent warning and went to flop down onto the blanket next to Wheatley.

After a moment, Glados followed her, sinking down to the ground on Wheatley’s other side.

There was an extremely awkward silence.

“Thought you didn’t like space,” Glados muttered and Wheatley didn’t look at her, eyes fixed on the sky.

For a second, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, wasn’t going to accept the olive branch she’d begrudgingly offered him purely for Chell’s sake.

“I don’t,” he said, shrugging. “Got a little brother who’s obsessed with it, though. It’s practically all he ever talks about. You know— ‘spaaaaaace’.” Wheatley mimicked his brother’s voice with a high-pitched sort of whine and Glados’ lips twitched despite every physical effort she put towards the contrary.

After a second, Wheatley unfolded his legs, stretching out next to her.

“Sorry, by the way,” he said, quietly. “Didn’t mean to assume that we were— you know, that we were, well, friends.”

Glados considered ignoring him. Or maybe shoving him down the hill too.

“Shut up,” she said instead, tugging the zipper of her jacket all the way up. “Don’t be a moron. I don’t hang out on hilltops with people I hate.”

A beat of silence followed this declaration, and Glados glanced to her left to find Wheatley beaming at her.

Ugh, _no_ , why was this happening to her.

“I knew you liked me!” he chirped, clearly thrilled and Glados really did shove him this time, sending him tipping into Chell, who shoved him back without taking her eyes from the stars.

“Don’t push your luck,” Glados snarled, but there was little heat behind her words and she’d given her secret away. Wheatley didn’t appear to be afraid of her anymore, leaning into her personal space with his touchy-feely self and babbling away at about a hundred miles an hour.

“—may not like space or anything but with my brother’s obsession I know a whole bunch about it, if you’ve got any questions about constellations or anything, just ask, I know all the stories you know—oh, that one up there is fascinating, let me tell you about—”

Glados lost patience and grabbed him, clapping a hand over his mouth. Wheatley’s words dried up and he sat there, blissfully silent for several stretched seconds, blinking at her over the top of her hand.

Glados examined his eyes – blue, very very blue – when suddenly something damp touched the palm of her hand.

She made a disgusted noise and reared back as Wheatley burst out laughing.

“Did you lick me!?” she demanded and Wheatley _winked_ at her, of all things.

“Got you to let go, didn’t it?” he asked and Glados snarled, her good mood quickly evaporating.

“You little _shit_ —!”

“Shh,” Chell interrupted them. “It’s starting.”

Glados, fingers curled in the front of Wheatley’s sweater vest, looked up at the sky. As she watched, a star shot across the sky in a blur of light. Then another, then another. Then the entire sky was full of bits of light, spiraling in streaks across a canvas of painted stars.

Chell sighed with satisfaction.

Slowly, Glados uncurled her fingers from Wheatley’s sweater, sitting back on her hands and tipping her face up towards the stars.

They sat like that, the three of them together, for a long time, watching the stars dance across the sky.

Something brushed Glados’ fingers, something soft and warm and very very hesitant.

If she didn’t think about it, Glados could almost pretend that she didn’t know what it was. That it was some strange sensation – maybe her circulation cutting blood off from where she leaned back on the palms of her hands.

And if she didn’t know what it was—

(because there was no way Wheatley was brave enough, or _stupid_ enough)

\--then there was no reason at all that she shouldn’t lift her pinky, just a bit, and layer it on top of that warmth.

None at all.

... What a moron.


End file.
